


More Than The Game

by dkenedy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 14:32:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1691717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dkenedy/pseuds/dkenedy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione Granger was angry. Her temper boiled out in mumbled curses as she marched down the stone corridor. Her ivy wand was gripped tightly, skin tight across her knuckles while small sparks fizzed out the tip. No, she was beyond angry. Hermione Granger was livid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than The Game

**More Than The Game**

* * *

Hermione Granger was angry. Her temper boiled out in mumbled curses as she marched down the stone corridor. Her ivy wand was gripped tightly, skin tight across her knuckles while small sparks fizzed out the tip. No, she was beyond angry. Hermione Granger was livid. A few lingering students immediately fled from her path, fearing the scowl that marred her beautiful face, as she stormed towards the object of her disdain: Oliver Wood.

 _'He's trying to drown himself in the showers.'_  Fred's voice echoed through her mind. She was stunned when Fred told her where Oliver was. Everyone was in the hospital wing seeing to Harry's injuries and Oliver was sulking in the team change room? Something in her snapped the minute Fred spoke. Harry was laying unconscious in a hospital bed and that bloody prat was brooding over a stupid game. Some captain.

And to make matters worse, when Harry woke up brief as it was, he blamed himself for letting Oliver down.

Well, that is it. Hermione had enough of this nonsense.

She rounded the corridor to the Gryffindor change rooms, her steps loud against the cobble as she made her way. That stubborn Scot was about to get a piece of her mind. How dare he place quidditch above his teammates.

She barged through the door, the wood crashing against the stone, and stopped short.

 _Maybe this wasn't such a good idea,_  she thought with a sharp intake of air.

"Her-Hermione," Oliver stuttered as he tightened a white towel around his hips covering the naked skin. His dark hair was still damp from his shower, droplets of water dripping off the shaggy strands to land on his bare chest. His muscles were contracting and relaxing with his movements, showing off his rather defined body easily. Her wand almost slipped out of her grasp and her mouth was suddenly uncomfortably dry as Hermione tried to battle the blush from her cheeks.

"Can I help you?" He raised his brow as he watched her, trying to determine why she was disturbing him. Her actions were silently questioned, as if her presence was not warranted. As if, her anger was not at all justified. That brown fuzz, arched high and demanding, was enough to send her into a whirling inferno once more.

"Yes," she snapped, crossing the room and pointing the tip of her wand to his chin. Oliver's eyes widened as he swallowed audibly.  _Good,_  she thought,  _be scared._  "What do you think you are doing?" Her voice was calm, only hinting towards the stirring anger that sat below the surface.

"Tryin' not to wet me self. What 'bout you?" Oliver smirked, though obviously rather uncomfortable. Though, whether it was to her wand or his lack of dress, Hermione was not sure.

"Currently," his eyes, still wide, flickered between both of hers in uncertainty as she spoke. His blue orbs darting around her face, his keeper reflexes working at a blistering pace, as he tried to determine how to defend whatever awaited him. "I'm debating on what hex to send you way."

With a narrowed glare, Hermione dropped her arm and Oliver let loose the breath he had been holding. He watched her as she turned from him to pace the length of the changing bench. Oh, she was fuming alright. Burning him with a look that could only be described as wrath.

"You're brooding," she started taking her eyes off him for a moment, "Harry is laying in the hospital wing, and you are  _brooding_?" Her voice echoed through the room. Her footfalls drowned the dripping of the shower faucet. Her hair wild as it tried to escape her loose hanging plait. Eyes flashing, lips trembling, cheeks flushing. Oliver almost did not answer he was so wrapped in the siren call that she embodied.

But he did answer, testing the waters and pushing his luck. He always had such great luck.

"Aye," he said slowly, drawing out the word, "Suppose I am." She let out an almost feral snarl before turning on him once more. Maybe, he was troubled, but knowing he was going to be singed only excited him further.

"Bastard," she mumbled through clenched teeth. Oh, these waters were definitely steaming, heating him up in both anger and passion. "Insensitive bastard."

"'Scuse me?" he glowered at her. Alright, now, that last bit was a little harsh. He was unsure why he was labelled so negatively. He had not done anything, not really.

But Hermione, she was sure he had. Ignoring his team, the ones he was supposed to be loyal too and protect, to wallow in one loss. And he was fully aware of it! Heartless. To her, he was heartless.

"Harry almost lost his life," she took a step towards him, his eyes darkening with a rising fire matching the flames with ignited in Hermione's amber orbs. "And you are more concerned that you almost lost the cup." She made a hissing noise as she sucked in a breath, feeling his gaze smoulder her skin. "Honestly," she looked away, she had to look away. The fight in him rivalling hers was too much. Glancing across the room, staring at the doors leading to the field, she muttered. "You put this game about everything else. It's like you don't care about anyone at all."

"That's what ye think?" Oliver growled, his broad thick. Was she blind, or just rash? Could she not see that caring was the reason for this? She was stubborn. Oh, so stubborn, but her strength was waning and he felt himself plateau as well for the moment, catching his breath. Oliver watched as Hermione tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, defiantly avoiding his eye, and he moved.

She heard his breath sail out of him with a sigh but remained focused on the high arches framing two large ornate wooden doors to the pitch. Beautiful magic carved that wood, and Hermione studied the swirling pattern of ivy vines climb up the edges. They twisted in knots, tying symbolic patterns with their turns as they almost cradled the Gryffindor shield. Pride, Gryffindors definitely had pride.

Then she flinched. Hermione felt his fingers under her chin, guiding her to look at him.  _When did he get so close?_ She thought. The warm heat of her amber orbs, still cracking with urgent heat, held his gaze. The blue iris of his eye was thin around the black pupil, thawing and freezing as they peered into her. "Stupid lass," Oliver said softly.

"Excuse me?" the words snapped through the air, unable to rise to the same decibel used only moments ago. The intensity of the row and the need to flee blistered, and yet, Hermione froze in Oliver's grasp. His touch filled her with a deep passion instead of fury, and it was completely baffling. This was definitely something new.

"I care that Potter's hurt, aye, I do," his fingers traced across the skin on her jaw clouding her mind. "And, aye, I care that we lost, but," Slowly the anger was draining out from them both, the quiet words encircling them in an intense intimacy. "S'not why I'm brooding."

"Why?" she whispered softly. Too softly. They both knew now the fight was lost in her. It was lost in both of them. At least for the time being.

"You really don' know?" She shook her head. Her eyes were wide, curious, and innocent, begging him. He inwardly groaned at the sight. Hermione Granger was  _begging_  him.

Feeling her focus, her devotion, solely on him, stirred something in him. Hermione was needing his words,  _him_ , and he could not help but oblige, knowing full well he was in dangerous waters.

He was troubled all right.

"Dementors, sly beasties they are," Oliver mumbled, his hand coming to cup her face while his thumb rubbed the skin on her cheekbone. She chewed her bottom lip in anxiety, and his heart sped up. "After Potter dropped, saw one 'vancing on the crowd, right behind ye, lass."

"Wh-What? But, how?" Her eyes dropped to his chest as she shook her head in confusion, Oliver's palm brushing against her face as she moved. Her skin was soft beneath his calluses, sending a small shiver through him. He needed to get out while he still could.

"Dumbledore shot a defence out," Drawing his hand back from her, Oliver walked back to his locker and Hermione could only stare. She watched his back, the muscles tightening beneath his skin as he pulled clothes out of his gym bag, her breath slowing to a normal rhythm.

Without his touch Hermione felt less fogged, the fire of lingering embers stirred, igniting in an after blaze.

"I don't believe you," Was this some sort of sick joke? He was blaming her for his brooding. But, as she saw his motions still, Hermione felt a thrill at the sensation surging through the moment.

"What?" He whispered.

"I don't believe you." She repeated louder. The daft girl had no idea what sort of territory she was treading in. She had no idea what buttons she was pushing with her wild ferocity.

"Harry dropped from 'em no more than an hour ago, and you don't believe you were next?" He stood roughly, shoving his pack aside with a swift kick. Hermione inwardly flinched when Oliver turned to her, his eyes ablaze with bright blue flames of burning ice. Oh, she was definitely playing with fire.

"I don't believe that's why you're brooding." she pressed and Oliver let out a groan. There was a loud rushing past his ears. The witch was making his blood boil and Oliver was relishing in it. "What would a stray dementor advancing on  _me_ , of all people, matter to you."

"What would it matter?" he asked in a shocked whisper, his voice growing as her words sunk in. "What would it matter! You bloody well matter, lass."

"But why do you care so much, Oliver?" Hermione drew her bottom lip between her teeth, scraping the flesh with uncertainty. His shouting threw her off slightly. It was no secret they never spoke, they were hardly even friends, and yet, his tone carried an immense impact. Hermione was not scared, but Oliver never yelled at her before. She had seen it directed at his players, but she never expected it to be directed at her. Especially about this.

"I can't seem to get how such a bright witch," Rubbing his temples with the thumb and fore finger of his right hand, he let out a sigh. How can she be so clueless? How could she not see that she more than just mattered to him, "can be so daft."

"Where do you get off!" She hollered, "Harry—"

"Forget Potter for a moment, Hermione," he yelled back cutting her off. "You almost wound up next to him! Your life matters, Hermione."

"Yes, but not as much as Harry's, surely."

"Aye, Potter matters," Oliver started watching her deflate with each passing second. Hermione was feisty, fiery, and full of flames when she was worked up, but his words were pulling her into cool waters, and he could see her finally grasping his intent. Hermione Granger was someone he cared about, and he never realized how much until he saw that cloaked bastard sneak behind her. "But to me, lass, you matter just as much, if not more."

"Oliver," she whispered, her attention downcast to the floor.

"Will you just hush," Knowing how much she wanted to speak only made Oliver chuckle as he halted her.

Her mind was rash with reaction. It was that way with everything. She stormed her way to him with immediate response, not reason. Oliver would not let her leave without hearing reason.

"Potter's accident scared me stiff. It's my team—"

"It's not your fault," she suddenly felt terrible for attacking his motives. Of course, he cared about his team. That was something Hermione should never have questioned. But her?

She was still reeling. Oliver could not possible care for her that deeply. She was blown away in the whirl of emotion. Ashamed for thinking his character so vile when he obviously placed hers in such high regard.

"I am 'uppose to protect 'em," he said firmly, only highlighting how goodhearted he truly was, making her chest clench with guilt. "I am the captain. The screams were 'round me and I was ice. Couldn't 'elieve it was happenin', but seeing that black cloak come near ye," he let out a shaky breath and she felt her heart constrict further and her throat tighten with a choked sob.

Oliver was devastated about her. He was terrified for  _her_. She felt the sting at her eyes. How could she of been so stupid? "Never again, ye 'ear me. Never."

It was too much, she looked at the floor, studying it as she felt the tears escape. They trailed down her face and dripped off her chin, darkening the cold stone floor. Then she heard him move, crossing the distance to her, but Hermione could not meet his eye. Hands instantly cupped her face, thumbs wiping away the tears that fell. "There is more I care about than quidditch, lass."

"Sorry, I never should have said it," Shutting her eyes, more tears were let loose only to be removed by Oliver.

"Nah need for that now." His smirk was present in his voice and Hermione looked up to him. A soft smile starting as she nuzzled into his palm. "I should've come straight up to see Harry, aye, I know. Guess it comes with the territory of being an insensitive bastard." She let out a water chuckle and he grinned down to her widely.

Suddenly time seemed to stop. She breathed in his scent, deep breaths of pine and rain warming her chest. Oliver's eyes darted down to her lips before meeting hers once more. His breath grew rough, hoarse even, and he felt her burning him alive. Soft skin came up to rest on his chest, her nails tracing a hesitant pattern on the bare skin. His admissions were still rocking through her, that was for sure, but Hermione was growing bold and Oliver could only follow her lead.

His hands moved, one moving to tangle in her hair, pulled the strands further out of the braid, while the other trailed down her side, coming to rest on her hip. Oliver heard her breath hitch, watched her eyes close, and felt her nails scratch him. She was scorching him, branding him, and he felt the snap.

He could not take it anymore.

With a growl, Oliver claimed her lips, his arm wrapping around her waist to pull her close. She moaned into his mouth, her arms wrapping around his neck, fingers running through the hair at the back of his neck. Hermione was lava in his arms, liquid passion, and he was drinking every sweltering bit. Oliver's teeth nipped at her lips, drawing them open for him, letting his tongue into taste her.

Pumpkin and peppermint. Merlin, there no flavour sweeter.

Hermione was never this alert. Not with her body. The touch of his fingers, running along the small of her back, his chest against hers, his fine hairs in her grasp. It was all there as Oliver sucked in her breath.

This was not what she expected to happen when she came here.

His kiss was demanding, passionate and fierce, as Hermione gave in with zeal. She moved backward, pulling him with her, letting him trap her between the wall and his body. Oliver's lips left hers, trailing a path from her lips to her collarbone, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh at the hollow of her neck, and she sighed.

"'Mione," he murmured against her, his hands running up and down her sides. She leaned back against the wall, savouring the moist warmth of his breath on her. Her leg hooked around his waist, and Hermione was suddenly very aware of his lack of dress. Oliver was still only in a white towel and pressing her to the wall with his hand resting on her thigh. This was definitely something new. And yet, she never felt this right about a moment before.

His lips met hers again in a crash of tongue and teeth, Hermione's hands tugging on his hair, pulling him closer. She moaned against the kiss before she felt him pull back, resting his forehead against hers.

Oliver kept his eyes closed for a moment, his breath ragged as he felt Hermione's chest heaving against his. Running his tongue over his lips, he drew in the lingering flavour of her taste into his mouth, relishing in the sweetness. His hand was cupping her cheek still, fingers in her hair while his thumb stroked her skin in slow passes.

"Don' know how long I've waited for that," A rough gravel rumbled out of his chest. He opened his eyes, taking in her sight. Boy, was she a sight. Her hair mused, face flushed and lips swollen. Oliver groaned, moving his thumb to brush over the sensitive flesh.

"Oliver," she said in between shallow gasps, "I didn't, I mean, that was—" she sighed as he stopped her rambles. Oliver leaned forward to kiss her again, this time more tender, before pulling back.

"I know, lass." Hermione smiled brightly at him, letting his grin fill her with a content happiness, one she hardly knew existed before. "Y'know what this means, ye?" Oliver spoke with certainty and Hermione felt secure, safe at the confidence he exerted.

"What?" She asked, her smile widening.

"It means you're mine now." His possessiveness, it should have feared her, but it did not. Oliver's arms around her, his lips against hers, it made sense. It made more sense than anything else had before.  _His_  sounded perfect to her.

"Okay," she said softly, leaning up to kiss him again, feeling his grin, and she mumbled against his lips, "yours."

* * *

**_Please review!_ **


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